


Escape (The Piña Colada Fic)

by Wordsplat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Pining Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's looking for an escape; it's closer to home than he would've thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape (The Piña Colada Fic)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashcdm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashcdm/gifts).



Every day, it was the same old thing.

Which wasn’t to say that Tony didn’t like his life, because he did. Pepper ran the business end of his company, while he got to tinker in his basement all day and occasionally save the world with a bunch of jerks in tights that he might also consider to potentially, maybe, kind of be his friends. So, his life wasn’t exactly boring by any sane descriptors, but it could be repetitive. He wasn’t looking for the scandals of his youth or any more near-death, lost-in-space experiences, just…a little change. Something meaningful, he supposed.

So he took out an ad in the personals. Not a _real_ one, obviously, because if he wanted company he could go out and pick up pretty much anyone he wanted, but. It seemed fun, he was feeling more impulsive than usual, and the Piña Colada Song was stuck in his head. So he paid for a paragraph and sent in the first chorus for kicks.

 _If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain_  
_If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain_  
_If you like making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape_  
_Then I'm the love that you've looked for, write to me and escape._

_-Manhattan Man With A Melody_

The tagline was beyond dumb, but Tony was hardly the creative type and couldn’t think of anything better. Besides, it wasn’t like he cared what a bunch of strangers reading the Times thought. He fully expected about a thousand replies, just like he fully expected to ignore each and every one. Only, he didn’t get a thousand replies. In fact, at first he didn’t get _any_ replies. Not that he was obsessively asking JARVIS or anything. It just so happened that he was bored enough to flip to the personals and he couldn’t help noticing no one had replied, that was all. It wasn’t until almost a week later that he got one.

 _Yes, I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain_  
_I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne_  
_I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon and cut through all this red tape_  
_At a bar called O'Malley's where we'll plan our escape._

_-2650 Jefferson Davis Highway_

A google search of 2650 Jefferson Davis Highway got him an O’Malley’s sports bar in Arlington, Virginia. Tony stared at the results for a minute, playing it out in his head. A plane flight to Arlington would take him barely an hour; he could have the jet ready in less. He could get a hotel room there tonight, meet them at tomorrow noon just like in the song—

No. Tony stopped, halfway to the door. This was completely ridiculous, why the hell would he fly out to Arlington to meet some complete stranger? Just because they happened to read the personals? Because they happened to like the Piña Colada Song? The New York Times was the most popular newspaper in the U.S. and hundreds of thousands of people liked that song, any weirdo with half a brain and of basic literacy could’ve posted that reply. He had shit to do, anyway. The suit needed upgrades, SI needed the new project specs yesterday, and—and—

And he really wanted to go.

What was the point of being a billionaire if you couldn’t occasionally do impulsive, eccentric things like use your private jet to fly out and meet a stranger in a sports bar three states over?

“JARVIS, tell Pepper I’m taking the jet to Virginia, I’ll be back in a few days.” Tony sniffed his shirt. “Shower first.”

A moment passed as JARVIS presumably relayed the message to Pepper, wherever she was in the building. Tony started shutting down the workshop, feeling better about the decision with each moment that passed. Maybe it’d be a waste of a trip. Maybe they’d be a creep. But it was something out of routine, something different and a little strange and definitely new, so Tony shut down his projects and got in the elevator.

“Miss Potts says your schedule indicates no such trip. Shall I tell her you’re planning an escape?”

“You shall not.” Tony made a face. Giving JARVIS a humor chip had been a horrible idea. “Tell her it’s personal.”

There was no reply for a little while after that. Tony showered up and spent a stupid amount of time choosing clothes for tomorrow before throwing four different options in a duffel bag and heading down to the kitchen for a bagel. Pepper cornered him there; he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“’Personal’.” She quoted at him. “You have a ‘personal’ trip to Virginia.”

“If we were still together, I’d make a sex joke.” Tony gesticulated in the general direction of her lady parts with his free hand, using the other to balance the bagel and cream cheese as he carried it from the fridge to the counter. “Get it? Because your name is—”

“I get it, Tony.” She sighed. “What do you have to do in Virginia?”

“Whatever she’ll let me.” Tony threw up his hands before she could say anything. “I’m done, I promise.”

“Did you have JARVIS tell me this just for the bad puns?” Pepper rubbed her forehead. To be fair, he’d totally do that.

“No, I’m actually going,” Tony admitted. He cut the bagel in half, stuck it in the toaster oven. “I have a meeting.”

“I’m your boss, you don’t have a meeting.” Pepper tapped her fingers along the counter. “Turn down the heat or you’ll burn it.”

“It’s fine.” Tony waved her off. “And it’s a personal meeting.”

“We lived together for two years, I know you keep the heat too high and you burn—”

“I’ll just take it out earlier then, it’s—”

“—everything, what does ‘personal meeting’ mean, you promised you’d tell me—”

“—fine, and it means a meeting that’s personal, Pep, between two people that are—”

“—about any Avengers meetings, Tony, I don’t want to hear on the news that you’ve died _again_ —”

“—not you and me, I said it’s fine, Pepper, so it’s _fine_ , I’m not going to die in a sports bar for fuck’s sake—”

“—without so much as a—what do you mean, a sports bar? Why are you going to a sports bar?”

“Because it’s where my meeting is.” He could smell smoke now, _fuck._ He turned back around to check on his bagel, found it burnt. He shut the toaster oven off with more force than necessary. “Right as always, Potts.”

Pepper opened her mouth, then swallowed back whatever comment she’d been forming with a dismissive, “Fine. Do whatever you want, Tony.”

Shit. Why were they always doing this to each other? He relented with a sigh, rubbed at his forehead. “I’m sorry. I just—I’m going to see someone, that’s all.”

Pepper’s eyebrows jumped. She looked exactly as surprised as he’d known she’d be, was giving him the exact look he hadn’t wanted to receive, soft and pleased and a little hopeful. “Are you saying you have a date?”

“It’s not…” There was absolutely no way he was telling his ex-girlfriend that he’d taken out an ad in the personals. “Sort of. Possibly. It’s complicated.”

“Good for you, Tony.” She was smiling now, so that was something at least. “I’m happy for you. I’ll clear your schedule.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Tony said, because if he didn’t remind himself he might do something stupid, like let Pepper’s hope catch on.

“Maybe.” Pepper just kept tapping away at her phone, presumably clearing his schedule. After a moment, she leaned across the counter a little to give his hand a quick squeeze. “Either way, I’m glad you’re going.”

Pepper being on board with the plan took some of the fun out of it, but once Tony landed in Arlington the excited sense of impulsivity returned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on a trip, however short, without an itinerary. He didn’t even have a hotel picked out. He dug a baseball cap and hoodie out of his duffel bag to disguise himself as much as possible, then took to wandering around the city for a little bit. He’d been to Arlington before, but only for funerals; there’d never been the time or inclination to see any sights.

He scoped out the bar last. It didn’t look like a whole lot from the outside, crammed into the first level of a business building next to a cheap diner, but inside was roomy and clean, all dark wood with tasteful accents. It wasn’t the worst place for a first date. If that’s what this happened to turn into, not that Tony was getting his hopes up, or anything. Nothing like that. It wasn’t a date, just…an introduction, that could _potentially_ turn into a date. It was a could-be date.

He got a room in the hotel across the street. It wasn’t as nice as the hotels Pepper booked him at, but it was close to the bar and he’d done his share of exploring. After tinkering on his tablet for a bit and ordering an obscene amount of room service—even for him—he gave in and called Rhodey. It only rang once.

“So you have a date,” Rhodey greeted.

“I see you’ve been gossiping with Pepper again.”

“Of course I have. You never tell me anything.”

“What do you think I was calling you for?”

“Moral support, though you’d have spent an hour dodging the subject and calling it a ‘not-date’, or a ‘maybe-date’, or a—”

“It’s a could-be date,” Tony clarified with no small degree of sullenness. Was he that predictable?

Rhodey laughed. “Or a could-be date. Point is, now we can skip the part where you pretend it’s not a date and get to the part where you explain why you’re meeting them in Virginia.”

“For a—”

“Don’t say threesome.” Rhodey sighed.

“Why, you want in? Foursomes are fun too, snugglebear.”

“Depends, who’s your mystery date?”

“Well, that’s the fun part.” Tony shrugged, trying to go for nonchalant. “They are, in fact, an actual mystery date.”

Silence. Then, “You let _someone else_ set you up? I’ve had dibs for _twenty years!”_

“Relax, I’m not cheating on your blind date dibs. No one set me up, I, uh. Did it myself. Sort of. So, you know the Piña Colada song?” Rhodey stared at him. For a moment, Tony thought the screen on his phone had frozen. “You okay there, platypus?”

“You put out an ad in the personals.” Rhodey’s eyebrows shot up. “ _You_ put out an ad in the personals.”

“Yes, I—”

“ _You_ put out an _ad_ in the _personals—”_

“Ha ha, very funny, we get the point—”

“I thought you said physical newspapers were for ‘heathens and de-iced centenarians too pretty to know better’?”

“I call the guy pretty _one time—”_

“You’ve called him pretty at least a dozen times.”

“Not the point. The point is that I didn’t use a physical newspaper, I used their online submission page, and that’s not even the point, the _real_ point is that I have a could-be date with some stranger who lives in Arlington. Who lives in _Arlington?”_

“You’re skipping parts. What’s their name, how old are they, how’d you get their number—”

“Yeah, I, uh. Don’t know any of that. And I don’t have their number. They put the responding verse in the personals section and the tagline was the address for a sports bar in Arlington called O’Malley’s, like in the song.”

“So you don’t even know if you’re meeting a man or a woman?”

“Nope.” Tony popped the p.

“You know literally nothing about them, except that the closest O’Malley’s to them was a sports bar in Arlington?”

“That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Rhodey broke into a grin. “Good for you.”

Tony groaned, face-planted onto a pillow. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“You’re putting yourself back out there, Tones, it’s a good sign. Mopey, post-break-up Tony would never have even thought of—”

“I wasn’t _mopey—”_

“You were mopey. And very whiny. And now look at you, going on a could-be date with a mystery person. They’re no Steve, but—”

“Don’t bring him into this.”

“I’m just saying, the guy’s been crazy patient—”

“He asked me on one date, one time, and I spent the entire time bemoaning my breakup,” Tony insisted, exasperated and more than a little embarrassed about being forced to remember that utter disaster.

When Steve had asked him if he’d like to get dinner sometime, Tony had assumed he was just playing up the team leader thing, trying to bond with him or whatever by lending a sympathetic ear in the wake of Tony’s breakup. Though Tony had resisted the idea at first, Steve was a surprisingly good listener and actually really nice to talk to; the only problem was that Steve had been going for more of a “romantic first date” than “shoulder to cry on” vibe. He’d gotten the hint pretty fast that Tony didn’t realize it was a date and never said anything, just let Tony vent.

Tony only even figured it out two days later, after Natasha told Pepper who told Rhodey who told Tony, who had proceeded to blackout the workshop for a week and work until he could forget about the entire mortifying incident. The worst part was, after what he’d thought was a bonding dinner, Tony had actually grown pretty fond of Steve. Too little too late, there. He’d been doing his best not to think about it.

“Trust me, the guy’s not waiting around for someone ten years his senior who spent their entire first date talking about his ex.”

“Natasha said he had a nice time.”

“Natasha’s a dirty liar.” Tony paused. “Wait, you talk to Natasha? Why does everyone talk to Natasha? She stabbed me in the neck, what’s wrong with you people?”

Rhodey shrugged. “She didn’t stab _me_ in the neck.”

“I am _betrayed—”_

“She did it to curb the palladium poisoning, I think it’s time you let that one go.”

“Possibly.” Whether he admitted it or not, Tony actually kind of liked her. He’d always had a bit of a thing for women who looked like they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he pissed them off. “She’s still a dirty liar, though.”

“She says that according to Steve you only even started going on about your breakup later,” Rhodey disagreed, “He thought the first half of the date went very well. And the second half, well, he shouldn’t have asked you out so soon after your breakup, that’s his own fault.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t see it that way.”

“Come on, man.” Rhodey snorted. “You don’t see the way he looks at you?”

“With pity and amusement, like he can’t believe he ever thought asking me out would be remotely enjoyable for anyone involved?”

“With interest. Come on, he laughs at all your jokes, even the dumb ones—”

“My jokes are fantastic—”

“Two missions ago, you, me, him, Clint, and Sam in the quinjet, you made about a dozen bird puns. Sam was a good sport and laughed a little, Clint wanted throw you out the hatch, I laughed at a couple of the admittedly not horrible ones, but Steve laughed at them all. He laughed when you told them they should egg-cersize together. He laughed at _egg-cersize,_ Tony, nobody laughs at egg-cersize.”

“Maybe he just has a better sense of humor than you plebeians.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s still into you and wants you to make the first move this time.”

“Okay, A, you’re wrong. Very wrong. Laughably wrong, look at me laugh.” Tony laughed to prove his point. “B, Captain Tightpants’ opinions shouldn’t even matter, because I’m going on a could-be date with someone else and this time around I’m _very_ aware of its date potential.”

“Good! Make it a date. Have some fun, loosen up a little, get comfortable back on the dating scene…then go ask Captain Hotpants for a second date.”

“I said Tightpants, not Hotpants.”

“Did you? I heard Hotpants.”

“I definitely said Tightpants.”

“What I’m getting here is that you think he’s hot in tight pants.”

“That’s not what I said.” Rhodey wasn’t exactly _wrong_ , but that wasn’t some kind of secret. The guy was Captain America, of course he looked hot in tight pants. “Look, I had a chance and I shot it in the head; now you—and Natasha, and Pepper, and whoever else is in your little gossip club—need to let this one go.”

“If your mystery date goes fantastically and you fall head over heels, great, sure, I’ll let it go. But if it’s lukewarm, I reserve the right to pester you about giving Captain _Hotpants_ a second date. Even Clint thinks you guys have chemistry.”

“Only if you get on board with mystery—wait, _Barton’s_ in your gossip club?”

“It’s not a gossip club, Tony, it’s just friends talking to each other. You’d be in the ‘club’ too if you ever picked up the phone.”

“I do!”

“To someone _other_ than me.” Rhodey rolled his eyes. “But fine, sure, I’m on board with mystery date. I fully encourage and support mystery date. I’m sure you’re going to have a great time with mystery date, and not think about hot blondes in tight pants at all.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too. In all seriousness, you’re calling me after this thing, and I want your details to have details.”

“Done.” Tony chuckled. “Talk soon.”

“Talk soon,” Rhodey echoed, ending the call.

Great, now all he could think about was Steve in tight pants.

He shook his head, tried to focus on his could-be date instead, but it was sort of hard when he knew next to nothing about them and quite a bit about Steve’s ass in spandex.

The next morning, after very little sleep and way too much breakfast, Tony was starting to realize exactly how screwed he was. He hadn’t been on a real first date in years, possibly decades; he hadn’t known what was happening with Steve until it was over, he and Pepper had fallen headfirst into dating without any of the awkward preamble, and before that he hadn’t really been all that concerned with dating. Did he even remember how to do this? He remembered not being good at it. Remembered being too glib and too handsy and, well, kind of an asshole. But he’d been in his twenties, everyone was an asshole in their twenties. Maybe. Probably.

He was so screwed.

He tried to wait until noon, like in the song; he lasted almost a quarter until nine. It was a little pathetic, but whatever. He couldn’t help it. He may have been anxious, but he could also admit he was a little excited now, too. It probably wouldn’t work out, he knew that. They’d be a weirdo or not interested in him or any number of other things, but…they could also be any number of good things. Only one way to find out.

The place was pretty empty, as could be expected of a sports bar before nine in the morning, and Tony was about to hit up said bar while he waited when he spotted a very familiar set of shoulders already there. He stumbled backwards, banging his elbow on the handle of the door and all but falling back out the door and into the street. He quickly moved away just in case they followed, fast-walked around the corner.

God, he was going to kill Rhodey.

He punched speed dial on his phone. “You complete and utter asshole.”

Rhodey pulled a bitch face at him. “You wanna maybe back up a bit?”

“I can’t believe you sent him here!”

“Sent who there?” Rhodey seemed genuinely confused. Tony changed tracks.

“Who did you tell about mystery date?”

“No one, man. Contrary to your belief, I don’t actually spend all my time talking about you and your antics.”

“Well, _someone_ told him!”

“Told _who?”_

“Steve!” Tony whisper-hissed into the phone, just in case Steve had spotted and followed him. He glanced around, but didn’t see anyone. “He’s in the bar, so obviously someone told him—”

“Why would Steve crash your date?” Rhodey’s brow furrowed, then he pointed out, “Unless he’s trying to win you over for that second date, now that he knows you’re ready. Points for spontaneity, but I’ll have to mark him down for his timing, he should’ve let you have the mystery date to get all the nerves out of your system.”

“Stop siding with him,” Tony demanded.

“Don’t get pissy with me, I didn’t tell him.”

“Then who the hell did?”

“Pepper could’ve told Natasha, and everyone knows Natasha reports all you-related things to Steve—”

“She does _what?_ Why? Wait, what does ‘everyone knows’ mean?”

“It means Steve’s totally smitten with you and since we all know Natasha’s current life goal is to get Steve a date—”

“Again with the ‘we’, who the hell is ‘we’ and why does ‘we’ never seem to include me?”

“—it really doesn’t take a genius to figure that she might be keeping him informed, look, I keep telling you to play nice with these people and you keep not listening to me—”

“Of course I’m not listening to you, you’re not making any sense—”

“—and this is the kind of thing that happens when you don’t listen to me. What did I tell you after New York? I told you you’d probably see these guys around a lot—”

“What do you want, for me to join your little phone tree? They all have rooms at the—”

“Rooms you never actually told them about don’t count—”

“There’s no organic way to work ‘oh, hey, by the way, I built you all suites in the floors of my tower I set aside for the team that never actually happened’ into a conversation without sounding creepy as shit, okay, believe me I’ve tried—”

“The only reason the team hasn’t happened yet is because you and Steve are still weird,” Rhodey informed him.

“That’s not _my_ fault—”

“He shouldn’t have asked you out so soon after Pepper, and you should’ve just _explained that_ and called him in a month or two, instead of burying your head in the sand and denying you liked him at all just because you embarrassed yourself a little.” Tony started to sputter an excuse, but Rhodey wasn’t having it and talked over him. “You guys slipped up a little, missed a connection, it happens. But he’s really trying to make up for it, and I know you like him. You would’ve already given him the brushoff if you didn’t. Instead, you play the staring game and get really touchy given half an excuse.”

“I don’t—”

“He bumped his ankle around a bit and you helped him walk for like an hour.”

“He had a legitimate sprain, you ass.”

“I’ve seen that man get shot and ‘walk it off’.”

“What, so I was supposed to just let him flounder?”

“He was walking perfectly normally until you offered your shoulder, then his pain tolerance magically dropped and he had to hang on you like a rag doll.” Rhodey snorted. “I call them like I see them.”

“I’ve helped your drunken ass walk before, you think I wanted to get into your pants too?”

“Yeah, you helped me walk, you didn’t hug my waist and pet my hair—”

“I wasn’t _petting_ him, I was getting the blood out of his hair!”

“All I’m saying is, you’re sending some strange signals for someone who claims to be uninterested. It’s understandable the guy would think you’re open to a second date.”

Tony rubbed his forehead. “You’re not going to help me get rid of Captain Cockblock, are you?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Rhodey answered immediately. Tony groaned. “You really want him gone so bad, go kick him out yourself.”

“He’ll just…” Tony tried to find the words to explain Steve’s face, the way his brows would furrow together and his eyes would go all solemn and his expression would dim, how he wouldn’t even be upset or surprised, just resigned, and how Tony was completely incapable of saying things that made Steve’s face do that. At least on purpose. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll figure something out.”

“You do that.” Rhodey chuckled, reading Tony’s mind about as easily as ever. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony hung up, stashed his phone back in his pocket and leaned against the wall of the building.

On the plus side, he’d killed almost fifteen whole minutes.

His phone beeped. He checked it, expecting some cheeky text from Rhodey, possibly even one of Natasha’s emoji-filled monstrosities telling him to get inside or she’d show up and drag him in by his hair, insert flowery smiley face here, but it was JARVIS opening a video feed. The resolution was absolute shit, but it was pretty easy to see this was from the inside of O’Malley’s. It looked like whatever camera JARVIS was pulling from was hung on the back wall, because it gave a clear view of the patrons sitting at the bar. Like Steve.

Tony turned up the volume.

“—left now?” The bartender was asking, leaning against the counter.

Steve shot the bartender a nervous little flash of a smile, glancing at his wrist reflexively before seeming to remember he didn’t have a watch and checking his phone instead. “Three…hours. Wow, I thought…yeah, no, I guess it’s three.”

“You’re crazy, kid.” The bartender snorted.

“I didn’t want to miss him.” Steve just shot the bartender another nervous flash-smile, softer this time, and Tony wished yet again that he’d have just paid a little more attention all those months ago when Steve had asked him out to dinner. “When he gets nervous he does crazy things like show up three hours early, and I didn’t want him to talk himself out of it, or get discouraged and leave.”

“Sounds like a character.”

“He is,” Steve agreed.

“What’d you call him?”

“Tony.”

“Right. Well, if Tony turns you down after all that, he won’t be getting drinks here anytime soon.” The bartender gestured to someone out of frame. “And Mia’s been eyeing you all morning, if things don’t work out for you on that front.”

Steve laughed. “Thanks anyway, but—”

“Jeremy has been too, if that’s more your type.”

“I’m pretty set on the one fella in particular, but.” Steve tipped his drink towards the bartender. “I appreciate it.”

“What a romantic.” The bartender grinned. “Keep talking like that, you’re gonna make Mia swoon.”

“Fuck off, Harry!” Someone, presumably Mia, yelled from off-camera.

“Don’t worry too much about your guy, huh? He’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, hey, his loss.” The bartender, Harry, shrugged. Steve just hummed noncommittally. Harry laughed. “You sound real convinced.”

“If he told me to lay off I would,” Steve said quickly, then paused. “But if he doesn’t…I don’t want to give up on this just because our first date wasn’t perfect. It’s not like I’m perfect either—”

Someone made a strangled sort of snort off-camera, said something that sounded like a sarcastic, “Are you sure about that?” Tony had a feeling it was Mia. He was inclined to agree with her. Steve laughed awkwardly, made that aw-shucks face he did when he didn’t know how to respond to a compliment.

“Well, uh. I’m really not. I mean, it’s my fault he didn’t know it was a date in the first place.” Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “He suggested burgers, and I was so happy he’d said yes to dinner at all that it didn’t occur to me burgers weren’t exactly date-like, and by the time I realized he didn’t _know_ it was a date it was too late to correct him without sounding like a complete idiot. Still, it was…” Steve took his hands away from his face long enough for Tony to see his private little smile. “It was really nice. It was just burgers at some diner and he talked about his ex-girlfriend an awful lot more than I was expecting, but I would’ve listened to him talk about her all night if it meant staying there with him.”

“Goddamn.” Mia tossed her rag at Steve’s head. He tried to duck but was a second too late, then she stalked past the camera’s view with a harried wave. “I’m going out for a smoke. And don’t start in on me with that cancer shit, Harry, I mean it, if I have to listen to True Love Talk Radio over here for another second I’m going to either puke or start making fantasy wedding boards on pinterest and both of those things are significantly worse for my health than a couple of cigs.”

Steve watched her leave, rubbing at the back of his head where the damp towel had smacked him. “Sorry?”

Harry chuckled. “Theatre major.”

“Ah.”

“Nice speech though.”

“Thanks.” Steve laughed, a nervous edge to it. “I’m hoping he agrees with you.”

Tony shut his phone off. He’d heard enough.

He passed Mia on his way back towards the front of the bar, lighting up and muttering about asshole romantics ruining the rest of the population. Tony paused in front of her. She raised both eyebrows impatiently.

“What would you do if he was waiting for you?”

Mia didn’t pause. “Bang him.”

“I meant more along the lines of what would you do right now, going into the bar—”

“Yeah, so did I.” She shot him a weird look. “We’re talking about the beefy blond dude who stepped out of a Harlequin novel, right? I’d suck his brains out his dick then I’d take him home and lock him in my room until the end of time. You’re his guy, right? Tony? Go do those things before I do them for you.”

Fair enough.

He stepped around her and headed for the front door, taking a breath before opening it a second time. While he didn’t intend on ‘banging’ Steve in a public bar, what he was actually going to do seemed a lot more intimidating.

Maybe he _should_ just bang Steve on the bar.

“Hey, Steve.”

Steve turned too fast, almost fell out of his seat, then seemed to roll with it and stood up. “Tony! I didn’t—you’re here. And…not surprised?”

“Saw you earlier.” Tony gestured to the door. “Left.”

Steve nodded, glanced down. “Ah.”

“But then I thought that was stupid, so I came back.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s expression alone was worth coming back for.

“Yeah. Can we talk?”

“Absolutely,” Steve rushed to say, like if he didn’t answer fast enough Tony might walk out again. “Do you want to sit, or—?

“Why don’t we go for a walk, first?” Tony could feel Harry’s eyes on him, suspicious and possibly knowing. Tony’s goatee was kind of a giveaway.

“Sure.” Steve gathered his jacket and followed Tony out. Tony turned a different way this time, not wanting to run into Mia, or any other friends Steve had made.

“So, full disclosure,” Tony started, “I spied on you. Sort of. JARVIS did, anyway, pulled up the video feed from inside the bar on my phone. I didn’t ask him to, but I didn’t turn it off, either.”

“Oh.” Steve’s expression stayed carefully neutral, though Tony could see his ears going a little pink. “Guess I don’t need a speech then after all, huh?”

“Not really.” Tony cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Nothing I wouldn’t have said to your face.” Steve laughed, a little self-consciously. “Though maybe not in quite as many words.”

“I think I might owe you one,” Tony said before he could lose his nerve. He didn’t like admitting to this and he sure as hell would only be saying it once, but he figured an embarrassingly honest personal disclosure would maybe put them back on even ground. “One speech, that is. Because—because I liked our date, Steve, and I know I went to a lot of lengths to convince you I didn’t, to convince myself that I didn’t, but I, uh. I did. A lot. And it was my first date in probably something like twenty years—” Steve visibly faltered. Tony talked faster to compensate. “—or, I should say, my first, _first_ date, I’ve had—Pepper and I went out, to events and dinners and whatevers, but we’d known each other so long at that point that it didn’t really feel like a first anything, and before that no one really wanted—that’s not relevant, the point is that you were my first, first date in ages and apparently I’m even worse at it than I remember and it was—I was embarrassed. For misunderstanding, for talking about Pepper endlessly, for all of it. So it was easier to pretend I wasn’t interested anyway, that it didn’t matter how the date had gone, than to admit that it’d gone poorly and I didn’t _like_ that it’d gone poorly, because I liked it, I liked…you.” Tony finished lamely, crossing his arms in a preemptive, defensive sort of gesture.

Steve had stopped walking. Tony resisted looking at him, until Steve put a hand on his elbow and lightly turned him. He was smiling. “I like you too, Tony. I meant it when I said I had a good time.”

“What, no speech?”

“No speech.” Steve leaned in, pausing just before their lips could actually touch.

“Now that doesn’t seem fair, I think—”

“Stop talking.” Steve rocked forward impatiently, fisting his hands in Tony’s shirt and closing the last inch like Tony had hoped he might. Tony met him with enthusiasm, pulled him closer by the hips until Steve dropped his hands to circle Tony’s waist and pull him close enough there was hardly room for air left between them. Good to know that if Tony was overenthusiastic, at least he wasn’t the only one. When they had to part, Steve just bumped his forehead to Tony’s with a breathless smile.

“If it makes you feel better, it was my first date in seventy years, so I’m kinda rusty at all this too.”

“I’m more interested to know if I managed to snag your first kiss in seventy years,” Tony teased. Steve laughed.

“Natasha beat you to it.”

“ _Nata—”_

“Covert op, public displays of affection make people uncomfortable enough to look away. Before that, Peggy.” Steve’s smile lost a little of its luster. “Lucid spell.”

“Ah.” Tony nodded knowingly. Steve had been lucky to catch her so aware of her surroundings, it was growing rarer to see her like that. “Well, never let it be said I can’t take third place with grace—”

“Oh, and Thor. Clint convinced him it was a Midgardian greeting.” Steve tilted his head a little. “Though, I’m pretty sure he was messing with Clint via me.”

“Okay…” Tony resisted the urge to pursue that train of thought. “Fourth, fourth is accepta—”

“And Clint,” Steve remembered, “To convince Thor. Though, he seemed kinda eager too, come to think of it—”

Tony groaned, dropped his head against Steve’s chest. “Just tell me you haven’t kissed Bruce.”

“I haven’t kissed Bruce,” Steve promised, “Just them. And Rhodey.”

“ _What?”_ Tony jerked his head up.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t—I just—your face—” Steve couldn’t stop laughing long enough to put together a coherent sentence. Tony elbowed him, stepped back a little.

“You’re kind of a jerk sometimes, you know that?” Tony muttered, but there was no real heat to it. If Steve was all apple pie and sunshine, Tony wouldn’t like him half as much as he did.

“Ah, c’mon,” Steve coaxed Tony back into his arms, peppering little kisses along the side of his face. As if Tony would ever have the willpower to turn down a real one. “Would it make you feel better if I told you yours was my favorite?” 

“Mm…” Tony held out as long as he could, somewhere around three to five seconds. “Possibly.”

“It was,” Steve assured, drawing back a little and stroking his thumb over the curve of Tony’s cheek. “I really like you, Tony. I don’t know how much you overheard earlier, but I want to take you out on another date. Or a real first one, whatever you’d like to call it.”

“To be clear, you’re asking me on a date?” Tony checked, only half kidding. Steve nodded, the picture of serious save for the hint of a smile he couldn’t quite seem to stifle.

“To be clear, I’m asking you on a date. Expect flowers at your door, wining and dining, a goodnight kiss, all the works.”

“Just a kiss, huh?”

Steve colored a little, but he seemed more pleased than embarrassed. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Tony tugged Steve in by the collar, kissed him again. Steve went easily. Tony grinned when they parted. “Yeah, I’m not really one for waiting.”

“I can see that,” Steve murmured, catching Tony’s lips again after he’d had a moment to catch his breath. Belatedly, something occurred to Tony.

“Shit,” he muttered, and Steve’s brow dipped in confusion.

“What?”

“Oh, not—definitely not you, I just remembered, the whole…” Tony waved a hand vaguely. “Date, thing.”

“You can’t?” There was the face Tony had been worried about earlier; disappointed, a little resigned, the look of someone very used to never getting what they wanted. Tony tried kissing the look away. He had a moderate degree of success.

“I can and will,” Tony promised, and he meant every word. “I was talking about the other date, mystery date.”

“Mystery date?”

“Piña colada person, the one I was originally supposed to meet.” Tony glanced back in the direction of the bar. Five years ago he wouldn’t have thought twice about standing them up, but he was trying the whole “being less of an asshole” thing.

“Oh.” Steve laughed a little. “I thought you…? Tony, that was me.”

Tony stared. “What?”

“Yeah. How did you think I wound up here?”

“Rhodey said Natasha tells you everything about me.”

“That’s, uh.” Steve’s cheeks were going red again. “Not—I mean, she tells me things, but it’s not like I ask her to, she just—she’s very interested in my love life, I don’t know if you’ve ever had someone like Natasha take an interest in your love life but she’s extremely thorough—”

“She didn’t tell you about this?”

“No.” Steve paused, corrected himself, “Well, she did, but later. After I’d already sent a reply.”

“How did you even find the ad in the first place, much less know it was me?” Tony knew he was still staring, but he was distracted by the math he was attempting in his head. He didn’t believe in anything as ridiculous as soulmates, but the odds of Steve, out of the millions of people who read the Times, being the one person to respond to his ad, out every the dozens of ads posted a day…it was insane. The numbers were ludicrously low, the fact that they were standing here at all was nothing short of—

“JARVIS,” Steve admitted, “He emailed me your ad. I wasn’t going to respond, I didn’t want to push you before you were ready—again—but then you got so many replies…I figured it couldn’t hurt to throw mine in there too.”

“So many?” Tony frowned down at his phone. “Steve, yours was the only reply I got.”

“It is possible…” JARVIS’ slow, tinny reply came through the phone’s speaker, “That in addition to emailing Captain Rogers I may have then refrained from notifying you of responses I did not feel warranted your interest.”

“You think Natasha’s bad.” Tony chuckled, holding up his phone. “Apparently my AI thinks he’s some kind of matchmaker.”

“All due respect, sir, I do believe you find my results quite satisfactory.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“Set up by an AI, huh?” Steve mused, looking with interest at Tony’s phone.

“Better watch out,” Tony warned teasingly, “Next thing we know he’ll try and steal you for himself.”

“I’d like to see him try.” Steve leaned in to kiss him sweetly, before pulling back after far too brief a moment with a considering sort of look. “Come to think of it, I actually kinda _would_ like to see him try. Not that he’d succeed, obviously, but that’d sure be something else—”

“Stop talking.” Tony shut him up with another, much more satisfying kiss.


End file.
